The Man Who Has No Heart (Soulless 2)

But that never happened.

When I came home from work, she wasn’t at the desk downstairs, and when I stepped into my condo, everything I needed was already there. I started to wonder if I used to see her all the time…because she wanted to see me.

It’d been a while since I’d spoke to Derek, so I contacted his device. Since Derek was smart, we were able to connect our devices through the internet, so I could call him without him actually having a phone.

It rang for a while before Derek’s face appeared on the screen. His eyebrows were initially furrowed, like he was trying to figure something out, but once he saw my face, his eyes lit up. “Dad!”

I smiled. “Hey, son.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just finished dinner. What are you doing?”

“Working on my train set.”

“Cool.”

“Where’s Cleo?”

I turned stiff at the question, unsure how to respond. “Derek, she doesn’t live with me. You know that.”

“Yeah, but she’s always around.”

“Well…she’s not here right now.”

“Oh.” His eyes turned sad. “Well, tell her I figured out what kind of ants those were at the cabin. Did you know there’s like thousands of species of ants?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy.”

I sat at the dining table, my arms on the surface on either side of the device. I saw his moon poster in the background, along with his space-themed bedding.

Derek stared at me for a while. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You look sad.”

“I’m not sad.” I forced a smile.

His eyes remained glued to the screen. “But your eyes aren’t smiling…”

Cleo’s observation of Derek had been correct. He could read people’s emotions in a way I couldn’t. He was five years old…and he was always right on the money. “Just tired.”

“Is something wrong with Cleo?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because your eyes got sad when I talked about her.”

I stared at the screen for a while, unsure how to respond to that. “We had a fight…”

“Ooh…”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like how you and Mommy had a fight?”

Nothing like that, actually. “No. Cleo and I are just friends.”

“But aren’t you best friends?”

I stared blankly again.

“Like how you and I are best friends?”

My eyes softened. “We are best friends, Derek. But Cleo and I…” I couldn’t find the words to describe it, so I changed the subject. “Have you been in the pool a lot? I can see your goggle tan…”

Now it’d been almost three weeks since we’d seen each other or spoken.

My life felt off.

In the beginning, it felt normal. But then it started to feel sterile, empty.

Even lonely.

My life was the same every day, going to work and then returning to an empty condo. My evenings were undisturbed. It was just me and my laptop.

I decided to take the following day off, since it was the day Cleo delivered my dry cleaning and groceries. She would walk inside, and we’d be forced to get past the first awkward conversations.

But the hours passed…and she never came.

The next day, I went back to work, and when I came home, everything was finished.

It made me wonder if she kept her eye on the front door of the lobby, waiting for me to leave the building before she did her errands, to ensure I wasn’t there.

If that were the case…would I ever see her again?

After work, I texted her from my condo. Theresa is about to drop off some paperwork I left at the office. Could you take it from her and deliver it? I stared at the screen, wondering what she would say. It felt strange giving her an order as our first official conversation, but I didn’t know what else to do.

She texted back immediately. You got it.

I continued to stare at the screen, waiting for more dots, waiting for a longer message.

It never came.

An hour later, a knock sounded on the door.

I left the dining table and moved to the front door, my heart racing a little bit, my palms a little sweaty. Normally, our interactions always made my heart steady, always made me feel a sense of peace. But now, I was simply uncomfortable.

I opened the door—and saw Matt.

“Hey, Mr. Hamilton.” He held up the thick envelope stuffed with everything I forgot at the office. “Here you go. Anything else?”

I took the stack of papers without taking my gaze off his face. “Where’s Cleo?”

His professionalism faltered at the question, like he didn’t understand why I’d asked. “She’s with another client right now.”

I’d never asked for anything and got it delivered by someone else—not once in the six months I’d known her. “How is she?”

“Uh, fine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Yes…I’m fine.”

I texted her on Monday. I forgot my lunch. Could you bring me something?

You got it.

I hoped for more, but it never came.

When noon struck, I knew she’d be there any moment, would step through the doors and bring me what I asked for. Maybe we would talk. Maybe we wouldn’t say a word to each other. But I wanted to see her, regardless of how hostile it was.